Speechless
by jibber59
Summary: What can you do when there is nothing that can be said?
1. Chapter 1

_AUTHOR'S NOTE: I am not a doctor – I do not play one on television. However, as I have spent an inordinate amount of my childhood and subsequent years watching Marcus Welby, Medical Centre and ER, I do have what I refer to as TV-MD status. That being said, please note that all medical references in the following come from a dangerous combination of the above mentioned programs and Google Search. If you have concerns, take two aspirin and email me in the morning._

Hardison watched the digital display spinning on the device currently attached to the vault door, with a strong sense of déjà vu on the experience. There was simply no reason for this to be taking so long. It was a basic code, granted with a few more digits than most, but basic nevertheless. The vault door should have been open by now, but only half the numbers had locked in so far. He desperately hoped it would finish before Eliot returned from his perimeter check. He had told him the job would be done long before that, and he'd just hang out until Eliot returned. He had received a patented growl as response. If he'd been wrong, and Eliot was now kept waiting, the growl would be the least of his concerns.

"Parker, what's happening out there – everything still clear?"

She answered over the comm from her perch on the roof. "Dead quiet up here."

"OK – what about on the ground?"

"Oh – pretty quiet there too. Just the regular foot patrols. I think Dupont's car is coming. You guys done?"

"Workin' on it."

A low, long growl came over the earbud. "Workin' on it? You're still workin' on it? What happened to 'No time at all man'?"

Damn – he'd forgotten Eliot would hear his discussion with Parker.

"Relax man; I'll have this done before you get back."

"Really?" Hardison leapt like a startled deer, not having heard Eliot step up behind him. "Doesn't look that way to me. What's the problem?"

"Well – almost there. It looks like they have built in redundancies that are slowing down the program."

"How much longer? The guards have started their rounds."

"Eight done, so only 5 numbers left, so not more than another minute. Or two."

Nate jumped into the discussion. "Sophie and I can keep Dupont out of the building a bit longer if that helps, but his extra security team has already gone ahead and are probably inside starting the check. You might have a few extra goons to deal with Eliot."

"Perfect."

Their target was Alex Dupont – noted financier, supposed philanthropist and all-round hood. His charitable foundations were actually fronts for laundering funds for his less than ethical friends. When he wasn't hiding drug and gambling profits, he was running Ponzi scams on unwitting investors. So far, he had kept his public image clean, but the team knew there was evidence in the vault that would put an end to that, while enabling them to rebuild the depleted accounts of their client, and probably dozens of other victims as well. Problem was the vault also contained several more tangible assets, including right now a sizable amount of illegally obtained cash. And because of that, extra security had come in at the last minute, thanks to the mob boss behind the money.

"Hurry it up Hardison. I really am not in the mood to take on an army of thugs tonight."

"Can't rush the program – it does what it does. And since when are you not in the mood to fight?"

Eliot didn't answer him – just glared hoping that would end Hardison's curiosity. He shouldn't have admitted to not wanting to fight. They all thought he loved the action hero stuff, and to be fair, it was what he did. It's just there were times when it would be nice, for a change, to have a quick, quiet job. Especially those times when there had been nothing but back to back jobs, like over the last weeks. None of them had been what might be considered strenuous to him taken on their own, but cumulatively, he was a little tired of cuts and contusions.

After a moment of silence Hardison let out a small almost silent cheer. "Last number – we'll be in any second now. Nate, you and Sophie can get clear of Dupont anytime you have the opening." He had his attention focused on the vault and didn't hear the sound of something hitting the ground behind him, but Eliot did.

"Get down Hardison!" he yelled, as he ran toward the concussion grenade that had landed in the room. He dove, grabbed the charge and tossed it back out the door in one smooth motion. The guards who had delivered it were not expecting a return to sender, and were knocked out by the force released. While sheltered from most of the impact, Eliot too felt the shockwave and found his ears ringing and his head swimming. He turned to check on Hardison, who'd been far enough away to remain largely unaffected, and was relieved to see him still on his feet in the vault. Out of the corner of his blurring vision Eliot saw the specialty team of guards charging in.

"Nate – we may need another distraction" he called out before diving at the legs of the thug leading the team, sending him sprawling. An elbow to the back of the head made sure this one stayed out of the action. One down, four to go. "Hardison – go – NOW!"

Outside the building, Nate and Sophie kept their faces from reflecting the anxiety they felt over what they could hear going on inside, as they wrapped up their session with Dupont. Hardison shouted that he had the books and that Eliot should get outta there, but all they heard from the hitter was the sound of fighting.

A blur of fists, kicks and throws ensued and within a matter of seconds two more attackers were on the ground. He hoped the movement he saw near the door was Hardison leaving, as instructed. Somehow he doubted it.

During the flurry of violence he became aware of a siren in the background, with a recorded voice telling everyone to evacuate in response to a fire alarm being activated. Nate's diversion would help them get free of the building assuming they could get out of the room.

In mid spin, turning toward his remaining opponents, the pain of a bullet seared through his right shoulder, the impact turning his body just enough to give the remaining thug the opening he needed to reach around Eliot's neck with a garrotte. Well-honed reflexes allowed him raise his left hand to the side of his neck, providing a small protection between the rope and wire weapon and his own throat. He could feel the wire cutting into his hand and neck, immediately choking of his air. He could also feel blood start to run down his arm and throat. Half falling, losing consciousness from the combination of explosion, fighting and suffocation, he could not find a way to break the grip no matter which move he tried to make. He could hear Hardison yelling at the attacker to back off or he'd shoot him. Where the hell did Hardison get a gun? Must have taken out the guy who'd hit him in the shoulder. It fleetingly occurred to Eliot that he was sorry he was going to die without finding out how Hardison had managed to do that. Just as he felt himself blacking out the tension on his throat lessened slightly and he fell backwards as his attacker collapsed. He hadn't heard a shot, and prayed there was a reason other than Hardison turning killer that had caused the man to release his grip. A fleeting sense of relief came when, in the haze that was now his field of vision, he saw Parker holding up her Taser and grinning, until she saw him fall in front of her.

The garrotte had been twisted and pulled taut, and even without a human force pulling it, the cording remained tight to his neck, cutting off the oxygen. Parker knelt down to remove it, but it was deeply imbedded and she could not find a way to release the pressure.

"Hardison help me – it's killing him. Do something."

As the two worked frantically at freeing him, Eliot tried to reach into a pocket but lacked the coordination he needed. Seeing his weak but frantic effort, Parker sought to find what he'd been looking for. Finding a pocket knife she searched out an opening where she could cut, and was able to place the knife in a small gap left where his hand protected his neck. The rescue action resulted in briefly adding more pressure to the weapon wrapped around him, but once cut it loosened enough to enable to him to gasp, barely, for breath, as his eyes rolled back in his head and he surrendered to nothingness. The rope was red from his blood, and it required no expertise to realize that without help – fast – Eliot was not going to make it.

Wrapping his throat gently in Hardison's jacket, and supporting the unconscious hitter between them, Hardison and Parker made their way to the nearest exit, letting Nate know the escape route to have transportation waiting. As they burst through the door Hardison came within inches of slugging Nate, as the mastermind reached out to help them.

"Damn – do not sneak up on a guy like that. Here, get his legs, get him in the car. He needs a hospital now. I don't know if he's even breathing." Eliot was ghostly pale, and not moving as they settled him into the back seat. Sophie pulled out before all of the doors were closed, and they all watched for signs of life on the interminable drive to an emergency room.


	2. Chapter 2

Nate was fairly sure he was suffering from sleep deprivation at the very least. It was the only justification he could come with to explain the ideas his mind was coming up with. For example, he was fairly sure at this point that Leverage Inc. should qualify for some kind of "frequent flyer" points at the hospital. After all, it isn't like this was the first time they had been in a waiting room, pacing and praying, waiting for news on one of the team – usually Eliot. Of course, given that they tried to not use the same hospital twice, and definitely tried to use different IDs if they could, implementing such a plan could be problematic.

He also wondered why, as someone who had an almost pathological hatred of hospitals, he so often found himself spending endless hours there. Of course, he knew why. His team was his family, and just as he had known years earlier, you stay for family.

Sophie sat quietly beside him, occasionally mumbling words of encouragement, as much to herself as to him. She hadn't really been in a position to see how badly hurt Eliot was, but the mere fact he was still unconscious was a bad sign. Add in the abject terror in Hardison's eyes, and the unnerving silence from Parker, and Sophie was deeply concerned.

Trying to keep from thinking about what he had seen, Hardison focused on reviewing the information in the book they had liberated from the vault. The passwords contained in the notes gave him all the access he needed to clear out bank accounts and forward incriminating files, through a long series of firewalls to protect the source, to law enforcement, homeland security, IRS and any other targets he could find that would make Dupont's continued existence miserable. So he sat, pounding at the keyboard as his only avenue to vent the frustration and rage he felt. A voice in his head kept asking him why he hadn't pulled the trigger on the bastard that had put Eliot in the hospital. A louder voice, that actually sounded a lot like Eliot, kept telling him he wasn't a killer. He knew that if he had pulled the trigger, Eliot would have been the one to deal with the guilt of being responsible for changing that fact. He had enough guilt in his subconscious and conscious mind – and Hardison tried to take solace in knowing his hesitation had saved Eliot one more demon.

Parker's location throughout the waiting was the only uncertainty. Betting money normally would have her in an air duct watching as much as she could. Since Eliot was in surgery and she knew going in there would put him at risk because she'd have to stop the air filters, she was more likely literally climbing the walls somewhere else, hopefully out of sight. They all still had the comms on, and she knew they would call her back when there was something to call her back to. Like the news Eliot was ready to go home. That was the only news she wanted to hear.

Dr. Edgerton looked at the heavily sedated young man in recovery. He didn't for an instant accept that his patient had gotten tangled in wire at a construction site. This was no simple accident. But the cause was not his concern, only the treatement. He couldn't remember seeing damage this severe since he'd finished his service in Afghanistan. The wound had been every bit as horrific as any IED could inflict. And having seen some of the scars and x-rays for his patient, he felt the comparison was probably appropriate. He stared at the bed for a couple more minutes, trying to put together in his head the information he would be sharing with the family waiting outside. The OR nurse had already told them Mr. Simmons had survived the surgery and would soon be moved from recovery to ICU, at which time they could have a short visit. They needed to be fully briefed, prepared, on his condition before they saw him. Even with warning, seeing him was going to scare the hell out them.

"You are the family members here with Mr. Simmons?"

Nate stood quickly and stepped up. "Yes – Eliot is my brother-in-law. Can we see him now?"

"In a couple of minutes. I'd like to talk to you first." Nate felt a pit in his stomach that went to the floor and beyond. That look coming from a doctor was never promising. They all sat, and waited.

"We've done everything we can for Eliot for the moment. The lesser injuries have been addressed. The bullet wound in the shoulder was clean with very little muscle or nerve damage, and the laceration on his left hand, while deep, doesn't appear to have done any permanent damage. There may be some difficulty with movement at first, but some physio will deal with that. There was a fair bit of blood loss from the combination of injuries, but that has been dealt with as well."

"OK – that's the good news" Nate said. "What's the bad?"

The doctor moistened his lips, stalling a couple more seconds. He leaned forward resting his elbows on his knees. "His throat was severely damaged. His larynx was crushed, abrasions and deep bruising to his vocal cords. There is extensive nerve, and muscle damage. We had to do a tracheotomy – there was no way to intubate him. Without that, breathing would be impossible for him at this time. We've repaired what we can at this time, but there is so much inflammation, so much damage, that we couldn't address it all during this initial surgery. It was just too stressful for him right now. I've put a call in to a top otolaryngologist" he paused at the puzzled look, "throat specialist. This guy is the best I know."

Ironically, Nate wasn't sure at this point he could get his own vocal cords to work. Finally finding his voice, he asked the question the others wanted to, but were too afraid of the response to try.

"What's the likely outcome doc?"

"I'm not trying to stall you, or avoid answering. It really is too early to know, but I can tell where we stand right now. Eliot cannot speak, can barely swallow or breathe. We have him heavily sedated to keep him as still as possible. Movement will only make matters worse. His head is braced and his neck wrapped to keep him restrained."

"Doctor that could be a problem. Eliot has, let's call them issues, with restraint. He has had some experiences in the past that aren't exactly conducive to his cooperation if he wakes up tied down."

"PTSD? I'm guessing from some of the scars and x-rays that your brother-in-law saw action in either the Gulf or Afghanistan."

"Something like that." Nate replied vaguely.

"I understand. If I could, I'd remove them, but it is imperative that he be kept as still as possible. We can keep him sedated for now. My suggestion would be that we bring him around when you can be with him. Hopefully that will help to keep him avoid any anxiety."

"When will this specialist be able to see him?"

"I'm not sure yet – haven't heard back from him. I will keep you in the loop on any plans. Eliot should be ready for visitors in about 30 minutes. Why don't you all get a bit of fresh air and come back then. I'll leave word that you can stay with him as long as it will help him to stay calm."

An hour later Nate sat by Eliot's bed, carefully holding onto his bandaged hand, hoping his presence could be felt by the damaged man, and equally hoping his fears couldn't. Sophie was on the other side resting a hand on his arm, while Parker and Hardison stood at the foot of the bed, looking on, silently stunned. Although they had seen more of the injury than the others had, and had watched him agonize through the act that caused this, somehow it was worse seeing him lying helpless here, connected to monitors, tubes and medications. As horrendous as it was when it was all happening, they had been able to help, to do something to come to his aid. Now, in this sterile imposing environment, all they could do was wait. Hardison and Parker were not equipped for waiting.

A casual observer might think they had not moved from those positions over the next 72 hours, as that is how they were again situated when Dr. Edgerton came to check on his patient.

"We are going to start reducing the sedation to bring him around. As much as he needs the rest, he should be getting off the medications as soon as it is realistic to do so, and I think we can start the process. I don't imagine I need to ask if at least one of you can be here at all times."

Sophie smiled at him. "I doubt that will be an issue. What did the specialist have to say?"

"He wasn't overly optimistic, but at the same time, he didn't dismiss Eliot's chances of recovery. There is a great deal of damage, and we have to prioritize the repairs. Obviously, easing his breathing is primary, as is restoring his ability to swallow properly. The inflammation has gone down somewhat but it will be a few more days before we have a clear idea of what we will be dealing with. There will be more surgery in his future to try to reconstruct the damaged area."

"What about his voice? We ever gonna get to hear that growl again?"

The doctor looked at Hardison. "Growl?" "It was kind of his trademark. You have to know him to get it."

"As I said, breathing and swallowing are the priority. You have to keep in mind there was a massive amount of damage done. The fact he survived it is a miracle in itself."

"That your roundabout way of saying he won't be talking again?"

"I can't say anything for certain yet."

"Yeah – that pretty much answers the question." As Hardison turned away Parker latched onto his arm and pulled herself close to him, willing herself not to cry.

Dr. Edgerton left the room with the firm conviction that despite his best efforts he had let them all down.


	3. Chapter 3

His hand twitching was the first sign Eliot was coming back. Hardison was alone with him at the time. He stood up directly in Eliot's line of vision so as to be the first thing he saw. He did see him, but his eyes continued to dart about the room, and Hardison could see the muscles contract as Eliot prepared to move.

"No, stay still. You're ok. It's Hardison man – listen to me. I'm here. You're safe. You are in a hospital. You can't move because you've been hurt and have to stay still. Your head and neck are braced and restrained for the moment OK? You understand?"

Eliot opened his mouth to answer, and was immediately stopped by a hand over his mouth.

"No, no way man. It is critical that you do NOT speak. Don't try, don't think about it. No talking, no whispering and definitely no growling. Yes, glaring at me is perfectly acceptable, and pretty much the only option I have left you right now. Probably not nearly as satisfying. Your throat is hurt, badly hurt. You have to give it time to heal. I'm gonna move my hand but you have to promise two things. First – no talking, second, no trying to bite my hand when I move it. Blink once for yes. Eliot, blink once. Please. Look, you can glare again after, but for now – blink dammit."

Slowly, Eliot blinked while glaring. For some reason, that scared Hardison a little.

"OK – you got questions. I'm guessing the first is what happened. That's gonna take a bit of time so we come back to that. The next is where are you? You, (which in this case by the way, is Eliot Simmons), are in County General Hospital. You've been here a few days and…"

Eliot had been trying to get his attention without speaking, but Hardison remained oblivious as he charged ahead with his explanation. In frustration Eliot slammed his hand into Hardison's thigh.

"Damn, your strength is comin' back. What? What's wrong? You hurting? I'll get a nurse"

Eliot grabbed his hand to stop him. He tried to mouth his question, but his mouth was so dry he could barely move his lips. In desperation he pointed to the empty chairs and raised his eyebrows trying to convey his question. It took a couple of seconds for Hardison to decipher the gestures.

"Ah damn – shoulda told you that first. Everybody else is fine. Nobody got more than a couple of bruises. We're good. Better now that you're awake."

Eliot relaxed back into the bed in relief. His memory was foggy on what had happened, but the fact that he was here, tied down and unable to speak was a bad sign. But the team was good, so he must have done his job.

Hardison sat beside him again. "Eliot, I know you want to know what's happening, but for right now, you really just need to try to rest. I promise we'll tell you everything, but you're still kind of glazed over, and I think a bit more sleep will help with everything."

Closing his eyes seemed much easier than listening to Hardison right now and Eliot had the feeling he was in no rush to find out just how much trouble he'd gotten himself into this time. So he slept.

"Eliot? Can you wake up now? The doctor is here to talk to you – to us. Eliot, come on sweetie, open those beautiful blue eyes."

Sophie's voice eventually broke through his tranquilized sleep and reluctantly Eliot pulled himself back to consciousness. "This was the problem with drugs" he thought. "You just don't want to get past that feeling, 'cause you know what you wake up to is going to suck."

Looking up, he saw the team and a man in white watching him. Everybody was smiling at him, but none of them looked like they really felt it.

"Welcome back Eliot. I'm Dr. Edgerton. If you are feeling up to it, I have a few questions for you. Now I realize that is going to be difficult, since we've asked you not to talk or move your head, so what I'd like to do is answer me by blinking. Once for yes, twice for no. Do you understand?"

Slowly and deliberately Eliot blinked once, and, just as the doctor began to smile, he blinked again. The doctor froze, puzzled. Nate was about to step forward, when Eliot gave a clear wink to Parker. She grinned, Hardison growled, and the doctor looked at all of them like there was something not quite right. Nate frowned slightly.

"OK – so I take it that really meant yes. Now Eliot, Alec tells me he filled you in a bit on your situation." Blink. "You've been looked at by the best throat specialist I know, and he is recommending we do a bit more surgery to help repair the damage once you've had a chance to get your strength back." Blink. "Good. Until then, we're going to keep you here to monitor your breathing" Blink, blink. "No, I don't mean you'll be in the ICU, we'll be moving you to a private room. Much more comfortable and relaxing." Blink, blink.

"I think he's trying to tell you he wants to go home."

Dr. Edgerton looked in disbelief at Nate, then back to his patient. "There is no way you can go home right now son. You need help with breathing and swallowing. Leaving the hospital right now would be a short one way trip." Blink, blink.

"Dammit Eliot, he's not kidding. You can't be thinking about leaving here yet." Hardison growled again. Eliot would have loved to laugh at the hacker's effort to be tough, if only he'd been able to. Instead he settled for another pair of blinks.

"Eliot, if we disconnect you from the respirator, you will be unconscious before you get to the exit. This is not negotiable."

Blink, followed by a tiny shrug of his shoulder. He held up two fingers.

"I'm guessing you are thinking days, and I am talking about weeks." Two very strong blinks.

It was amazing how much emotion this man could put into simple eye movements, the doctor thought to himself. Probably a lot to do with the intensity of the stare that came with them.

Nate intervened. "Let us talk with him doctor. We'll work something out. Somehow."

Muttering to himself that patients who couldn't talk shouldn't be this much trouble, the doctor left.

"Look Eliot this really isn't up for debate. You heard the man. You HAVE to stay." Nate ignored the rapid eye movement being directed at him. He was also smart enough to step back out of reach. "We will do everything we can to make it comfortable, but you can't come home. Not yet. The more you play nice, the sooner you might get out." The blinking had stopped, but the glare remained in full force.

A few hours late Nate sat alone with Eliot. The hitter had slept for a while, and the rest of the team divided off into shifts, planning to ensure solitude was not an option for the injured man. Now, Eliot looked quietly out the window, trying not to write off his future. Nate tapped lightly on his hand to get his attention.

"Cute little stunt earlier – with the blinking and winking. Trying to ease the tension with a little joke – very considerate of you. Of course, since you are the patient you are not really the one responsible for that. You get that – right?"

Eliot raised an eyebrow, feigning ignorance on the matter.

"Don't get me wrong. I'm sure Parker appreciated the wink. And everyone here is really impressed with how brave you're being about this. But you can't con me Eliot. You're too smart to not be scared. Hell, we're terrified, and none of this is happening to us."

Blink, blink.

"Oh – not scared? Really. Why the hell not?

Eliot held up the uninjured hand and gave a thumb's up.

"Right – everything is going to be OK. Nothing to worry about. No crisis, no major surgeries pending. Just wink and smile."

Blink.

"Like I said Eliot, you're not stupid. Don't even try to stare me down. Won't work."

Blink blink.

"No – it won't work. I get it that you don't want to appear weak. That you are worried about how we can handle this. But once, just once, will you please let **us** worry about **you**? Let us protect you? Can't you give us that?"

Eliot hated the emotions that were churning inside him, but even more, he hated that Nate could read him so well. He wasn't scared – he was petrified. He wasn't big on talking, letting actions speak for him. But to have no choice, to have that opportunity removed – that terrified him. He was no good to the team if he couldn't communicate with them. And the fact that Nate had figured all that out, and was calling him on it was almost as unnerving. Eliot's survival depended on people not knowing what was going on in his head. It also depended on being the guy in charge, at least of himself. Nobody was supposed to worry about him. Nobody had for longer than he could remember, and that gave him the independence he needed to do his job. Now, people cared, people worried. It made him vulnerable. It left him exposed. But dammit, it made him feel good. And, somehow, deep down, a little less scared.

Reluctantly he raised his eyes and met Nate's stare. Blink.

When he awoke the next morning he had new sitters. Parker was curled up napping in one chair, while Hardison had dozed off in other, his head resting next to his laptop on the bedside table. Eliot retrieved the straw from his empty water cup and flipped it at the hacker to get his attention.

"What – I'm awake. Just restin' my eyes a bit. Light's bad in here. How you feeling Sparky?"

Eliot arched an eyebrow at the nickname. Only Parker got away with that one. Hardison just grinned. Eliot pointed to the laptop, signalling that he wanted to use it. Puzzled, Hardison handed it over, and stood behind to see what he was up to. It took him only a moment to find the website he was looking for and handed the laptop back. The screen was covered by a graphic of hand gestures covering the alphabet. He looked back to Eliot.

"Y.O.U. N.E.E.D. T.O. L.E.A.R.N." Eliot spelled out.

"Whoa, slow down. You know this stuff?"

"F.O.R. A J.O.B."

"Do that again, slower." Hardison's eyes darted between Eliot's hand and the screen. "Cool. This could work. You want us to learn?"

"Learn what" Parker poked into the conversation. "Hi Sparky!" Eliot smiled at her, which earned him a scowl from Hardison that disappeared quickly when he realized Eliot saw it.

"Sign Language – or at least the alphabet. Make it easier for him to talk to us for now."

"Cool. Let me see."

"P.A.R.K.E.R." Eliot pointed at her.


	4. Chapter 4

Sophie and Nate escorted Eliot to his apartment. Even though he was only down the hall from Nate, they were reluctant to have him staying alone. Surgery had only been a few days earlier, and watching Eliot walking slightly ahead of them, they could see the fatigue and stiffness in his movements. He was able to move around, but the neck brace still limited his options. The brace had been the result of a long fought out compromise. The doctor had wanted him to wear a full metal halo to restrict all motion, and there was simply no way he would tolerate that. It would drive him insane faster than Hardison's ramblings did. Eliot insisted in writing he was fine, and would be able to refrain from moving his head after the surgery without any assistance. Finally the idea of a cervical collar had been raised as middle ground, and on the solemn promise it would stay in place, the doctor had signed the release papers. None of the team expected Eliot to honour the promise for long, especially if they weren't watching him. Of course, they planned to watch him. Constantly.

His mood worried them as well. Communication was limited to the sign alphabet, writing notes or playing charades, which had become Parker's preferred method of communications with all of them now. Eliot never initiated the conversation, and rarely answered with more than a few words. And on the rare occasions he smiled, the smile did not reach to his eyes. He was putting on front, trying to keep them from seeing just how unnerved he was by the last few weeks, and by what was still to come.

He carried his small duffle bag with in his right hand, refusing to let anyone take it from him. If he could deal with something that simple, he might as well just give up. With his left, Eliot fumbled with the key. The hand was stiff, and the dexterity still quite limited, although slowly improving. Nate fought the desire to reach over and take the key, waiting quietly for the hitter to do this for himself. There were few victories lately, and he would not take away even the smallest ones. He chatted with Sophie, pretending not to be aware of the delay while mindful of the fact Eliot was aware of the act. Still, the illusion of independence was more than he'd had at the hospital, and he'd gladly take it.

Entering the studio apartment, Eliot could tell someone, probably Sophie, had prepared things for him. The room had recently been aired out. There was a pillow and blanket on the couch for him, along with a couple of books. Hardison had clearly been involved in the set up as well, as there was now a large screen TV with more accessories hooked up to it than you'd find in a stereo shop. A stack of DVDs, none of which were probably to his taste, were stacked there as well. There were several remote controls on the coffee table, and Eliot was betting he'd be recovered long before he had managed to figure out what they all did.

"So, Eliot. Is there anything we can get for you? I assume you'll come to back over to Nate's for dinner tonight, if you're not too tired. Hardison and Parker said they would cook something for us all." Eliot looked at her with dread in his eyes. He had sampled their cooking before. "Or, we could order in. Chinese or maybe pizza…" She stopped short, realizing what she had said. "Oh Eliot, I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking." Eliot held up a hand to try to tell her it was ok. The fact she had forgotten that he still was not able to handle solid foods was actually a good thing. It meant they weren't thinking of him as different, or limited, even though he clearly was. He nodded as much as possible to show his agreement to join them, although already planning to make it an early night.

He walked towards the kitchen, wondering how they had stocked that for him. It would be loaded with juice, soups, and supplies for smoothies if they had followed Doctor's orders. If they'd followed his, there would be a large bottle of Jack Daniel's there as well, but he didn't expect to find that. While wandering an item in the corner caught his eye, and stopped him dead in his tracks. Slowly trying to move his fingers, and registering again the futility of the gesture he sighed to himself and walked over to the guitar resting against the wall. Sophie gasped softly, furious with herself for failing to register the significance. Eliot picked it up and quietly walked to the hall closet, placing it inside and closing the door. He went to back to his trek to the kitchen, grabbing a water bottle from the fridge before stretching out on the couch and closing his eyes. Realizing there was nothing to say, Nate and Sophie left.

"I don't care if he thinks he is ready to go back to work, we're not putting Eliot into a situation where he can't let us know what is going on. And frankly I don't think he's going be able to text us in the middle of a fight Hardison."

"What about a button camera, or an open mike to know what's going on around him?" Parker suggested. She missed having Eliot on the con, and was anxious to try anything to get him back with them. Besides, he was cranky staying at home, and a cranky Eliot was never a good thing.

"No – he needs to be able to let us know directly. I am not putting him in the middle of something when he's not at 100% again. That was what caused this in the first place." Nate regretted saying that the minute the words were out of his mouth.

"What do you mean that caused this?" Sophie looked at him. "Are you saying Eliot was hurt before the Dupont job? Why didn't he say something?"

"Not hurt, just tired." Nate knew the hitter had pushed himself too long and too far, as usual. Now he wanted to do it again, going back to work. Nate felt bad enough about the first injuries, and was not going to risk anything more. "I kept pushing even though I knew he needed a break. If he'd been rested a bit more, well maybe he'd be talking to us now."

"Nate you can't blame yourself for that." Guilt trips were not a good excursion for Nate, and Sophie knew she needed to stop this one in its tracks. "If anyone can take blame on this it would be me. I should have kept Dupont and his thugs away from the office longer. Given everyone enough time to do the job."

"That's where the problem was" Hardison interrupted. "The time the damn job took. We shoulda been outta there long before anyone showed up, but my damn program wasn't fast enough. Eliot told me how much time I had, and I wasn't fast enough. Not only did he have to stall the thugs, he had to protect my sorry ass at the same time. I screwed up and he pays for it."

"Oh please" Sophie argued, "You can't be responsible for a slow hack – they take the time they take. You've told us that a hundred times."

"She's right – it was my fault." Parker's voice could hardly be heard, but it was filled with pain. "I took too long getting down to you guys when I heard the fight start. A minute earlier and that damn thing would never have been around his neck." Her own throat was so constricted with emotion she could scarcely speak.

The guilt had been building in all of them over the weeks they watched Eliot struggle to adjust to his situation. As he seemed to accept his condition a little more each day, his friends became more and more frustrated by their inability to find a way to resolve the problem. The argument escalated, each trying to take the blame on themselves to relieve the others of their pain. They were so wrapped up in the blame game than none of them noticed Eliot had entered the office. He stood in the door, astounded by their words until he could stay hidden no longer. Unable to scream the words in his head at them, he compromised by throwing down the drink he had brought into the room. The crash caused everyone to jump out of their seats, and Sophie rushed over, thinking Eliot was in distress. A few steps from him she stopped, seeing the look on his face. He spelled out something with his hand, but was moving too fast for them to decipher. He stormed over to Hardison's laptop and typed quickly, bringing his message up to the screen. One word. "SERIOUSLY?"

They looked at him, struck silent themselves. He stared back, and began gesturing to get his message across. Pointing at his throat, then at each of them, he clearly mouthed the word NO then pointed to himself.

They continued to stare, now in disbelief that he could blame himself, while letting them all off the hook. He typed again. "My fight – my fault. Sloppy. End of discussion." He stormed toward the door.

Nate grabbed him to stop, releasing him almost immediately in response to the glower that came his way. "Eliot, how can you possibly say you are to blame? You were concussed, fighting against 5 armed thugs. How does any of that make this your fault? Even for you, this was out of your control."

Eliot smiled at the phrase, and slowly turned to look at each of them. He stepped back to the keyboard. "Out of EVERYONE'S control. Shit happens."

"But…" Unable to reply in his preferred manner, Eliot stomped his foot, cutting Hardison off before he could go any further. The nature of the move dumbfounded the hacker. Eliot looked every bit the pissed off kid, tired of not getting his way. It was so atypical of the man the others couldn't contain themselves. Parker giggled, then barked out a laugh. Sophie chuckled, while Nate tried to twist the grin off his face before he incurred any more of Eliot's wrath. Hardison leaned back, arms crossed and smirking. "Let me guess…Dammit Hardison?"

The glare on Eliot's face remained as he turned his back to them, only to be replaced by his own grin when they couldn't see his face. Damn, these guys were a lot of work. Worth it, but a lot of work.


	5. Chapter 5

It wasn't that Eliot didn't appreciate the effort Hardison had made to set up a speech program on his smart phone. Being able to type in his thoughts and have them read out did let him get involved in the conversations. But it wasn't like he could use in on a job most of the time. Kind of hard to explain to a mark why you were typing notes in mid-scam. And most of the time his hands were otherwise occupied. Or at least they would be if the team and taken on any cases that might involve even the slightest confrontation. No, on a conflict scale at the jobs they were doing were roughly as challenging as operating a lemonade stand. So, the "voicification" program, as Parker called it, didn't really get to much use, and Hardison had noted that detail.

"What's the problem Eliot? I mean, I know you don't like the tech, but it does let you talk to us."

Eliot shook his head. He wasn't the one talking, and deep down, that was the problem. But it was senseless, not to mention narcissistic, to let that get in the way of things.

"Ain't tech Hardison – not much to say." Eliot typed, wincing as the electronic "voice" grated on his ears.

"Nothing you wanted to tell us about?" Sophie asked.

Crap – they remembered he'd had a doctor's appointment today. One that he had skipped out on. He just shook his head.

"The receptionist called to ask why you weren't there Eliot. You really didn't think you could avoid this did you?"

Shrug.

"Eliot…"

"Leave it alone." Nate intervened. "He's a grown man – most of the time. If he wants to run away from his problems that's his concern, not ours."

Knowing it was a ploy to get him riled up, and feeling something again, Eliot refused to rise to the bait. He was too tired of the tests, prodding and scans, only to be told that there was no change. Time kept passing, but little was changing. Everything had healed as well as could be expected, but the voice wasn't coming back. It should be better – should be stronger. He could, in an emergency, force a sound. It wasn't a pleasant sound, and wasn't loud, but it was something. Still, day to day use just wasn't coming back. No one could really give him a reason why. He was tired of explaining himself. He was just plain tired. He looked up, realizing everyone was still watching him, waiting for a response.

"Not running" he typed. "Done wasting time. Night."

He left, with no one trying to stop him.

"Well, it was just a matter of time till he got fed up by it all."

"I know Sophie, but it is just so strange to see Eliot surrender to anything. Never thought I'd see him with no fight left."

Parker sighed. "I miss his voice. I miss his smile. We can't make him talk again, but there has got to be a way to make him smile."

Hardison looked at her; "Say that again."

"Make him smile?"

"No – make him talk. I… yeah…maybe."

"Hardison, what the hell are you rambling about."

"Just an idea – I may be able to give Parker both of her wishes." He had moved over to the laptop and zoned into it. Talking to him would be nothing but a wasted effort at this point, so they left him to his scheme – whatever it was.

When the team gathered the next day, Hardison was still working away at his project. The only sign he'd moved at all from his spot was the shocking number of empty orange soda bottles littering the countertop. He barely acknowledged that anyone else was in the room. When Eliot entered he looked at the man hunched over the keyboard and raised an eyebrow to the others to express his curiosity. Nate merely shrugged and hand him some folders.

"Possible clients – help me look these over and we can figure out who to take on, and how to do it." Eliot assumed Nate already had decided on which cases to take on, but if this was the best they could come up with to keep him in the loop, he'd play along – for now.

It was a quiet day, with Sophie never showing up, and Parker doing whatever Parker did when they weren't on a job. There were some things it was better not to have the details on. Eliot and Nate read files, sorting out what did and didn't fit the Leverage criteria. Eliot picked out two he figured Nate wouldn't agree with, just to find out if the mastermind would overrule him. He got one, and lost on the other. Better than he had expected. Hardison remained at his keyboard, coming up for air only when Eliot put a sandwich in front of him. No matter what was on the agenda, passing up on a "Spencer Special" was never a smart move.

Sophie and Parker arrived in time for dinner, entering to silence and the smell of pot roast. Parker peaked over Hardison's shoulder, but couldn't begin to decipher what he was doing, so quickly lost interest. Sophie perused the client files the guys had sorted, but deciding discretion was her safest option, kept from offering an opinion. When Eliot stood to put dinner on the table, Hardison grabbed his phone from the table. "Just want to make a little tweak to something. Give it right back."

Ten minutes later they were at the table, and for reasons none of them could determine, Hardison seemed to making a concerted effort to harass Eliot. He toyed with his food, criticized the cooking and generally conducted himself in a way guaranteed to annoy the hitter. Eliot scowled, and at one point reached for his phone, only to pull back at the last second. Finally Hardison could take it no more. "Come on man – you know you want to say it. Do it!"

Grabbing at the phone, Eliot typed out his most overworked phrase. "Dammit Hardison."

Everyone in the room froze and looked at the hitter. He was more surprised than any to hear his own voice coming from the phone. Hardison's grin threatened to break his face.

"Fixed your problem. Knew you hated the robot voice, so I started a database from all of the recordings I still had from past jobs. Told you I never erased anything. So any time you type any word you have ever used, your voice comes out. I still got more to input, but I got about a third of it done…" He stopped talking at the look on Eliot's face. He had expected a smile, or at least a grin. Instead, Eliot looked like someone had just punched him in the stomach. The others hadn't registered Eliot's shock, and were reacting with glee at hearing the voice again. Parker couldn't sit still. "I knew we'd get you back. Well, maybe not you, but you sound like you, and that is almost as good." She looked at him and froze. "What's wrong Sparky?"

They all looked at him as he stared at Hardison. He finally started typing.

"48 hours solid, not sleeping, barely eating – to do this? Why?"

"What do you mean why? Why do you think you big jerk? We miss your voice. Parker said she missed hearing you, and for some unknown reason I did too. So, until you get your own voice back, this is what I came up with. Question is why are you pissed off about it?"

"Not pissed. Just puzzled. Too much work. More than…" he stopped, knowing if he 'said' what he was thinking it would just get him in trouble.

"More than what Eliot?"

He didn't know how to answer. He could feel himself losing control of his emotions, which was a feeling he was neither comfortable nor familiar with. He bit the inside of his cheek to try to reign in the reaction.

"Just – thanks." He stepped away from the table to get a drink from the fridge; any excuse to leave the room for a moment. Parker started to rise to follow him, but Nate grabbed her arm and shook his head. He knew the hitter needed a bit of privacy for a moment. He walked back a few seconds later, holding the phone so he could be heard. "What's on agenda? Next job?"

"Still debating that. Couple of promising jobs that won't require much more that some computer work with a bit of distraction."

"What about something for me?"

"Eliot, I'm not sure…"

"Bored Nate. Out of my mind. Something. Anything."

They knew inactive was not in Eliot's nature. How to reconcile that with his circumstances was a dilemma they had yet to devise an answer to.

As much as he hated to admit it, he understood the reasoning behind the team decision to keep him out of the action. He knew they saw it as a risk to him, and he was more than willing to take his chances. But he wouldn't – couldn't – put them at risk. They'd be focused on him, not the job, and the results could be disastrous. No matter what the cost to his sanity, he wouldn't put them in the path of danger.

They had become the only reason he still tried talking, still did the therapy he was supposed to work on twice a day. He didn't do it often, but he did try to speak. The results were crushing. He'd never had a silken tone, but the rough, grating broken rasp his voice had become was painful to hear and he made sure to never try when they were around. It was barely recognizable as a voice, almost impossible to decipher the words through the gravel. It was hard enough for him to accept the inevitability of failure, without destroying the hope they somehow kept alive. And they were keeping hope alive. Still talking about the day things would return to normal. His physical therapist and doctor kept the same fantasy going, insisting he should be doing better than he was. Couldn't understand why he wasn't.

He knew. He understood that this was just the way things were. In his more philosophical – one might say fatalistic – moments he imagined this was some kind of cosmic payback for the damage he had inflicted on others in his past. He had slit a throat or two in his combat days, and now karma was biting back. But in reality he accepted it was just his time – his turn to be at the short end of the stick. Hitters paid a price eventually for the life they chose. All things considered, he'd done well. He just hated that when it finally came his turn to pay, the rest of the team was stuck with the consequences.


	6. Chapter 6

Nate had run out ideas. Keeping Eliot occupied was not an easy task. It wasn't like with Hardison, where you could throw a computer problem or research issue at him. That would keep Hardison going for hours, sometimes days. Eliot lost interest in minutes. Something he could go out and case, walk the room, survey the neighbourhood – that was fine. But giving him a research problem was not a long term solution. He'd done the first few without complaints, but any further "busy" job requests could be hazardous to Nate's health.

Eliot was only happy when he was active, cooking, or watching sports. The freezer was full, both in the office and the restaurant kitchen. The team all had enough food to last through any disaster that might befall the west coast. And even 700 sports channels couldn't keep him happy any more. He was stir crazy. Certifiably.

So, after a lot of consultation with and creative input from Hardison, Nate devised a communications system that would let Eliot back in the field, on modified duty. He would become their lookout, keeping an eye on the perimeter. A remote signal was linked to the comms, letting him notify each member of the team with a unique tone. They created a kind of Morse code to alert them for any unforeseen situations. It also put him literally in the driver's seat, as he would be the wheel man in the event any hasty departures were required. It wasn't much, but it was a start.

Which is how he came to be on the roof across the street from the storefront office they had set up for their current operation. Nate was posing as a realtor, supposedly selling Sophie's land that the mark wanted to finish off his takeover of a small community. He'd hurt a lot of people getting what he had so far, and they were going to make sure his efforts failed. Parker and Hardison were the couple competing for the tract of land, and in so doing creating the bidding war which would eventually lead to his bankruptcy.

The mark had other ideas. Taking out the competition was more his style, and he'd set up his goons in an alley to stop them before they got to the office. Eliot could see them from the roof as his team mates approached. It was too far away to be certain of the details, but he'd been in the business long enough to know trouble when it was in front of him. He set off the comm signal to Parker, but got no response. They kept walking toward the ambush. He tried Hardison's code, but still no reply. So much for high tech communications. "Dammit" he thought to himself. He needed to let them know. He looked for something to throw, something to create a disturbance, but the roof was clear. Looking down again he could now see what the thugs had in mind. They were armed with bats and crowbars. This would look like a mugging gone wrong. Parker, a few steps ahead of Hardison, was almost in their reach. Reflexes took over and Eliot screamed her name at the top of his lungs. It was rough, it was raw, and it hurt like hell, but it was loud enough and clear enough to be heard and grasped. As he shouted he ran to the fire escape and down the two short flights.

The shock of hearing his voice, more than the warning it implied, had stopped Parker in her tracks. She looked up in time to see him pull back from the roof, and registered the significance of the move in time to react. Hardison too had taken on a combat mode, knowing full well he was not as equipped as he needed to be, but not going down without a fight. The skirmish had barely started when Eliot was in the middle of the fray, growling and snarling as he took down the threat with weeks of built up frustration acting as fuel for his actions. They pulled him off the last of the attackers before he went too far, and looked at him with stunned disbelief. Parker started to grin and giggle, but was cut off by his rasping order to get into the shop and finish the job. Pausing only long enough to give him a totally unexpected kiss on the cheek she rushed to obey. Hardison followed, trying desperately to get the grin off his face as he entered the office to proceed with the con.

One look told Nate and Sophie something was going on, but they stayed in character. The mark was sufficiently thrown of balance by the arrival of the buyers that he walked right into the trap, and within moments everything was in play for his bank account to be cleaned out. When he left Nate turned to the others for answers, and was instead greeted by a voice from the back room. Raw and rough, but sounding like music to their ears. "Move it – those guys are going to wake up eventually, and we don't want to be around."

They had peppered him with questions on the drive back, but Eliot just shook his head, not speaking. It took a few moments for them to notice the pained look on his face, and realize that the effort he had made had been costly. Back at bar he dropped them off and started to head away. Sophie grabbed his arm and directed him to a table instead, then went to the bar to get him a drink. Not his beverage of choice, he nevertheless drank the tea she brought, knowing the plentiful amount of honey she had added would help right now, although equally sure a shot or two of Tennessee whiskey would have an equally soothing effect. No one spoke, waiting for him to break the silence again. After a few minutes, he was ready to try.

"Don't know…" it was a feeble effort and still hurt like hell. He swallowed again, and this time Nate obliged him by grabbing the preferred beverage from behind the bar and pouring him a generous shot. Swallowing slowly, savouring the warming sensation, he tried again.

"Don't know why it works now. Guess I wasn't trying hard enough before."

Leave it to Eliot to take the blame. "Maybe it worked all along." Parker replied. "Maybe you were just trying too hard."

"She right." Nate smiled. "When you had no choice, reflexes kicked in. You did what you had to do when you had to do it."

"We should have known that nothing was going to stop you from being you." Sophie concurred. "When it comes down to it, you always come through for the team. It's what you do." She added with a smile.

Eliot raised a skeptical eyebrow at the theory. Still, he couldn`t come up with a better answer. Maybe some things were not meant to be understood. Just appreciated. He knew it wasn`t over, but he finally saw the light at the end of the tunnel. He shrugged and raised his glass. `Whatever," he rasped out. "Here's to unexpected successes."

And to overdue miracles, Nate added to himself.


End file.
